


Shore Leave

by RhineGold



Series: Shore Leave [1]
Category: Stargate Universe
Genre: M/M, Sex Pollen, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-15
Updated: 2013-06-02
Packaged: 2017-11-25 15:14:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/640205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RhineGold/pseuds/RhineGold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rush and Young’s visit to an alien planet takes a nightmarish turn when Young is infected with a mind-altering spore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Earth

**Author's Note:**

> I have a lot of apprehension in sharing this story beyond my writing tumblr but here we go.

~*~

"It's definitely an alphabet of some kind. You can see the repetition of the symbols, that there's some kind of narrative here, complete with punctuation. No signs yet of being advanced enough for technology, but this civilization clearly surpassed the mud huts phase..."

Colonel Young nodded sleepily, pulling his cap lower over his eyes. The bright sun beating down overhead left the air pleasantly warm, so much that he shrugged off his jacket before crossing his arms back against his chest. He leaned against the strange purple tree-trunk, nodding again absently as the scientist continued to prattle on about the ruins surrounding them.

Nicholas Rush knelt beside a high stone wall, tracing one palm over the joint between two stones. "There's no evidence of tools, but these stones are massive. To be lifted in place by hand would show a masterful understanding of mathematics and gravitational factors..."

The two of them were alone on the planet's surface, following a long and detailed debate and discussion aboard Destiny the hours before. A rockslide had destroyed the local Stargate, but the seedship's data had provided an intriguing map of obviously abandoned structures from a long-dead civilization.

After listening to his lead scientist practically beg to explore via the shuttle, Young had agreed to fly just the two of them to the surface, to be picked up in three days time when Destiny passed back into range. Meanwhile, Camile would spend the time putting the various senior crew members through a series of training drills, testing each of them in their capacities as both mission commander and lead scientist.

In truth, Young felt as though he could use a vacation, even if it meant spending that time alone with Rush. So far, things had remained peaceful as they constructed a tent beneath the stone roof of one of the over-grown buildings, gathering firewood and spreading out their supplies. Rush had even found some edible fruits while Young caught and grilled some promising-looking fish-like creatures. The fish had proved tough and bitter, but the fruit was sweet.

Now, he settled down for a peaceful nap while the other man crawled on hands and knees throughout the structures, making notes and talking to himself.

"These structures appear to be far older than the ones closer to the Gate," Rush was saying, dusting his hands on his BDUs before getting up and practically jogging towards the buildings scattered a few yards away.

"Stay where I can see you!" Young called, already closing his eyes again.

Rush waved a hand at him dismissively, hiking up the hill to explore some more.

~*~

The next morning, Rush discovered an underground entrance, a set of cut stairs leading deep into the earth on the side of the mountain. Recalling Scott's nearly-disastrous away mission, Young initially forbade him to enter, but Rush insisted it would be safe as long as he took a kino and Young remained outside.

After watching Rush's exploration for a while on the kino viewer, Young decided to pocket the device and do some poking around of his own. Starting on the other side of the tall hill, he began searching through the buildings, looking for any signs of technology. The furthest and smallest structure still contained several intact clay vessels, along with other pieces shattered across the stone floor. Shuffling aside the dried grasses covering the stone, he discovered a rotten wooden panel covering a second stone staircase.

In his pocket, he heard Rush's steady, one-sided conversation, describing the tunnel he explored, "...Seems to be some sort of fertility cult, judging by the carvings. The usual emphasis on a rather... optimistic expression of masculine physiology, and curiously no depictions of the female form. Perhaps a more 'fraternal' organization? No wonder they died out..."

Feeling his lips draw back in a grin, Young decided to check the chamber directly below him - if it looked interesting, he would interrupt Rush and wait for him to return before going any further. It wouldn't do for both of them to be underground in case something happened.

Activating his flashlight, Young carefully picked his way down the steep, narrow stairs. The chamber at the bottom proved to be long and narrow, the ceiling so low he had to duck to keep from brushing his hair along the stone. Rush's voice echoed in the strange space, warped and muffled by the fabric of his pants and the distance between the two of them. "...The remains of a vessel of some kind. Presumably water ran through here at one time. Crossing the river would represent a cleansing of some kind, the passing of one life to the next..."

Young found yet another narrow set of stairs, leading deeper still into the earth. Leaning down, his flashlight caught something humanoid, making him jump before he realized it was a painting or carving of some kind on the walls below. Intrigued, Young made his way down the stairs into the second chamber.

The walls depicted some sort of ritual, showing humanoid creatures with strangely large heads. A group of figures, dressed in bright robes swirling with colours, waited grouped on one end of the wall. At the far end, a single figure, dressed in a bright, simple shift, bent low as though in a narrow space, carrying a light or lantern of some kind in one hand.

The journeying figure was then represented passing through a large archway, bearing a distinct resemblance to a portion of human male anatomy, before coming to a glowing river where they crossed the swirling green waters in a raft.

On the other side, the figure continued through an even darker, narrower space, until they were met by one of the bright-robed figures before a large altar. Young's eyes narrowed when he realized the next step on the journey appeared to be extremely intimate in nature, both figures grappling, mouths pressed together. A second illustration showed the initiate on their knees before the other figure, position clearly compromising. Feeling his face flush in the dark, Young turned quickly away, shining his light around the space, looking around.

The far end of the room featured an ornate doorway, a large stone door carved with various symbols and more phallic artwork. In one corner, a large mirror reflected his light, illuminating a desk or vanity covered in various clay pots and rotting wooden boxes.

Setting his light on the stone table, Young carefully unscrewed the lid of one of the jars. A blast of dark powder erupted as he pulled apart container, sending him into a coughing fit as his eyes watered. The powder smelled of sulfur and something sweeter, and it grit in his lungs like glass. Eyes burning, Young clapped his hand into his chest, trying to catch his breath.

Stumbling, he fell against the table, feeling the flashlight and jars go flying away from his arm into the floor. More powder choked his lungs and he fell to his knees, gasping for breath. Opening his eyes, he reached for the flashlight, far across the room now, just before his vision dimmed completely.

~*~

"...The initiates would then enter a high-vaulted chamber, perhaps representing the loftiness of the goals to which they would now aspire..." Rush raised the flashlight to look at the high ceilings, unable to make out much of the detail on the carvings high overhead.

In the center of the room, a large stone altar dominated the space. He ran a hand over the strange language carved all over it, noting the top of the stone was worn smooth. He wondered if they had sacrificed animals here, but there did not appear to be a drainage system for any blood, and roof did not seem ventilated for smoke. Perhaps they prayed at the altar instead?

Maybe it was a throne, he thought, studying the carvings on the side, the mysterious language and more of the phallic symbolism. That would explain why the top was worn smooth, if people sat on it for long periods of time. Perhaps a master waited here for an initiate to arrive and prostrate themselves before the throne, ready to receive the cult's wisdom at the end of their journey.

Rush stopped, hand still on the altar, coming up short as he cocked his head to the side. He heard it again, the sound of stone sliding on stone. Shining his light into the dark corners of the room, he squinted, trying to see the source of the sound.

"Hello...?" He called into the darkness, his voice echoing in the high-roofed room. A cold trickle of sweat crept down his spine as he realized he could hear breathing in the darkness. Reaching up, he caught the kino in his free hand, sending it gently into the dark towards the sound.

"Is someone there?" He called, holding the flashlight up near his face, listening hard. The breathing seemed to come from all around him - it was impossible to make out a source. He heard his own voice echoed, tinny and warped, and he wondered how it could be played back at such a delay.

Rush cried out as something heavy slammed into him from behind, sending him face-first onto his elbows. He felt hands on his hips, pulling him backwards as he tried to crawl forward. Half-turning, he slung his elbow back hard, feeling the grunt more than he heard it as his bone met something soft. Human hands, he realized with a start, kicking to his feet, tearing free of the grip.

He ran into the darkness, his flashlight somewhere behind him. Rush yelped as he hit stone, palms catching before his face did. Feeling blindly, he found open air to the right, realizing he had found a door of some kind. He could hear the panting behind him, a garbled grunting, as he surged through the door. His knees banged into the sharp stone of a flight of stairs and he scrambled up as fast as he could, on hands and knees.

The low-ceiling hut he burst into was littered with shards of pottery and intact vessels. He could see boot prints in the dirt level with his face, just as a hand closed around his ankle, pulling him down several steps.

Desperately, Rush kicked out, catching the man in the face. Whirling, hair in his face, he caught sight of Colonel Young's enraged face as the man stumbled back down the stairs. Not waiting for an explanation, disturbed by the man's violence and the emptiness of his gaze, Rush was up and running, fleeing the building.

He ran down the grassy slope, legs and arms pumping, moving full-pelt, trying to put as much distance between himself and the colonel as possible. He could hear Young crashing through the vegetation behind him, but he didn't waste time looking. He had no idea what had come over the other man, but his every instinct screamed at him to run, to ask no questions, just to escape.

His expression twisted into something like terror as he ran through the landscape, weaving through the purple trees, past the building where they had pitched their tent the day before, past the shuttle he didn't know how to fly. He could feel his lungs burning from the effort, his legs numb, wind whistling in his ears. Rush ran as though his life depended on it. For all he knew, it did.

Behind him, he heard Young let out a cry of almost inhuman rage that only belatedly did he realize was his own name. Rush dared a look over his shoulder, regretting it immediately as his feet suddenly tripped up.

He was sliding, one elbow skinning in the mud and the damp plants before he tumbled over. Curling instinctively into a ball, he tried to keep his limbs soft and pliant as he banged into roots and rocks, rolling now down the steep hill. He felt the air rush around his face and he opened his eyes just in time to see the trunk of a tree rising up before him. His shoulder hit first and he closed his eyes, not even feeling it as the darkness swallowed him up as surely as the tunnels.

~*~

When Rush came to, he was lying on his side. Flexing his wrists and ankles, he tried to assess the damage to his body. Nothing seemed broken, though everything felt rattled and bruised. His forehead felt hot and wet, but he couldn't tell if he was bleeding or not. When he tried to raise his hand to press his fingers to the wound, he realized his wrists were tied together.

Opening his eyes, he realized he was lying on one of the sleeping bags in the tent. It was dark, the camp lantern across the space casting his shadow large on the canvas wall. His wrists were bound together with a boot lace, a square of cloth from the tent materials wrapped around them to keep the thin line from cutting into his skin too badly. His ankles were tied with the other lace, looped over the pants of his BDUs. He could see his boots laying across the tent, discarded once they'd been stripped of their laces. Their gear packs were missing, no longer left by the entrance, the knives and tools gone along with them.

Shimmying to his knees, he pulled his wrists to his mouth, biting at the cords to try and loosen them. The knots held good, even when he worked at them with teeth and tongue. Soon his tongue and lips felt raw and he was no closer to freedom.

When he heard footsteps outside the tent, Rush dropped back onto his side, casting around again for some kind of weapon. Nothing remained in the tent apart from the boots and their sleeping bags. He tried calculating his chances of being able to crawl away and hide somewhere, but the tent flap opened too soon.

Closing his eyes, he feigned unconsciousness, trying to keep his breathing even. He knew it was Young. He could hear him breathing, still heavy and labored, almost like an animal. He couldn't stop a faint shiver as fingers trailed over his cheek and into his hair.

"I know you're awake," Young gritted out, voice tight and strained.

Stubbornly, Rush didn't move, trying not to tense as the fingers combed through his hair, gentle touch still making his skull throb where he'd hit the tree.

He let out a startled yelp as the hand gripped his hair, dragging him up on his elbows and then to his knees.

Young smiled at him, eyes wide and black in the lamplight. "You shouldn't have run away," he whispered softly, eyes searching his face. He looked him over, expression appraising, as though he did not even know him.

"What's gotten into you, Colonel...?" He whispered, licking his dry lips. Young looked like a cobra getting ready to strike.

He smiled, though his eyes remained dead and cold. He looked the other man over like a piece of meat, making him swallow hard.

"Colonel..." Rush began, but Young closed the distance between them, twisting the grip on his hair to pull his face up into a brutal kiss.

The scientist erupted into struggles, but Young held him easily, one hand fisted in his hair, the other on his jacket. Rush bit at his tongue, earning a sharp slap to the side of the face that sent him reeling. Young was on him in an instant, and he swore when he felt something hard and insistent digging into his hip. Rush struggled to claw his way towards the tent flap, but Young caught him by the hips, drawing him back easily.

The hands on his hips felt around to unfasten his borrowed pants, already lose from the lack of belt. Rush cried out as his skin was completely bared. He felt Young's hands at his ankles suddenly, and the ropes pulled free, allowing the other man to strip his legs completely.

A hand palmed over the curve of his buttock, pulling his leg up as Young settled between them. Rush spluttered and surged away, held in a bruising grip by the leg while Young twisted his fist in the back of his jacket. This could not be happening, he told himself desperately. This was not going to happen. Young could not possibly intend to...

He gasped when he felt a finger slide into the cleft of his ass, pressing hard against the opening there. "STOP!" He shouted desperately, throwing his hair as he looked frantically over one shoulder. This was all happening far too fast. One minute he had been lying in the floor aching, and now he was being pinned on hands and knees as the commander of their mission attempted to mercilessly breach his entrance with his fingers.

Young smirked and reached into his pocket for a condom. He opened the foil packet with his teeth, still keeping one hand on Rush's jacket to hold him in place. The scientist swore when the finger returned, slick now with the condom covering it as it stabbed at him. The finger became two, prying him open with almost expert precision. He kicked out at the other man but Young rewarded him with a swift punch to the small of his back, sending him to his stomach on the canvas floor.

"Why are you doing this?!" He cried, voice rising with a reedy note as the fingers plunged deeper. It hurt, what Young was doing to him. He had never been with a man before and it hurt to be peeled into this way. He could feel tears smarting at the corners of his eyes and he tried to crawl again to no avail.

"You need to be taught a lesson," Young growled, voice hissing in his ear as he wrapped himself around the smaller man. Rush sobbed as he felt the rock-hard arousal pressing at his bare flesh now. Young unfastened his pants, groaning as he sprang free.

"Colonel, please," He cried, not caring that he was begging. This was unthinkable, unconscionable, and he couldn't comprehend why or how this was happening. Young had been fine this afternoon, and now he was an animal, grunting and panting as he thrust his erection against his bare skin, fingers still clawing inside of him, threatening to pull him apart.

Rush froze when he heard another foil packet being torn open, right in his ear this time. "Colonel Young..." He whimpered, feeling the tears threatening again, hot and thick in his eyes.

The slick heat pressing against him shifted as the fingers withdrew. Young grunted, pushing the tip into the small opening, holding it open with the ends of his fingers as he began to fit himself inside.

Unable to stop himself, Rush screamed, bearing down on his elbows in an attempt to pull free of the burning pain. Young ignored him, clutching his shoulders in a bruising grip as he slowly sank his weight forward, filling the smaller man with his length.

"You take that," Young snarled, pulling his hips back before slamming them forward again, rocking the scientist as he set a brutal rhythm. Rush sobbed, tears flowing down his cheeks now. It felt as though he were being split in two and he couldn't focus on anything except the shrinking and blossoming pain of the other man inside him. "Oh, yeah," Young panted, mouth wet on his ear, "You take all of that..."

Rush bit his tongue, feeling the blood fill his mouth. He tried to retreat into himself, to ignore what was being done to his body. He focused on doing equations in his head, running through the distance calculations he and Eli had been working on before leaving the Destiny. He tried to ignore the way Young's hips slapped against his, the way his lower body screamed in protest at the intrusion, and the way the other man licked a hot, wet trail up the side of his throat.

Suddenly, Young snarled, his hips jerking so hard into Rush's that he cried out in surprise. He could feel the smile in the curve of his neck as Young thrust again, harder still, wringing another shout of protest. When the other man groaned, long and low, Rush moaned, feeling the condom swell inside of him. Colour flushed his cheeks and he collapsed forward, unmoving as Young withdrew.

He closed his eyes again as Young rolled to the side, pulling him over into an embrace. He could feel tears continuing to leak out past his lashes, but he didn't move or speak. It felt like Young was still inside him, the ghost of the brutal thrusts making him ache as he struggled to get comfortable. His hips hurt from being spread and his spine felt as though it had been kicked at the base. Young nearly moaned with contentment, his semi-erect flesh still wet against Rush's hip. Rush had never felt more violated, never felt more abused.

Taking several deep breaths, Rush resumed his mental equations, waiting for Young's breathing to even out and his grip to slacken. His wrists were still bound, but his legs were free. As soon as he was able, he would make a run for the shuttle.

~*~


	2. Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rush’s attempt at escape is brutally foiled.

~*~

The first rays of the sun crept over the horizon by the time Rush reached the shuttle.

He'd managed to tug his pants up over his hips, but he still had no luck releasing his bound wrists. Young had hidden the packs and he had eventually elected distance preferable to tools. Besides, the odds were good that Young had hidden their equipment inside the shuttle, so he made a break for the far ravine where they had hidden it upon their arrival.

With a start, Rush realized they had only been on this planet for two days, meaning it would be another 24 hours before Destiny came back into range. Discouraged, he struggled with the closed hatch, not having much luck unbolting the mechanism with his wrists bound.

Rush began to circle the shuttle, looking for an edge that might saw through the thick shoelaces. Infuriatingly, Ancient design aesthetics lent more towards gently rounded edges and clean joints. Finally, he spotted a few promising-looking rocks at the edge of the clearing and hurried over to try his luck. The ropes frayed a bit and the rocks crumbled even more, but he was still no closer to freeing himself.

"...This is ridiculous..." He murmured, his voice a gunshot in the quiet clearing. This planet seemed to have no birds, a fact that he had initially found acceptable, but this was rapidly slipping into another category altogether. The last time he'd been trapped on a planet with a madman, he had used a herd of native creatures to do the work he physically couldn't. He tried not to think of the /first/ time he'd been trapped on a planet with someone who meant him harm. With Colonel Young.

He absolutely refused to consider what had transpired in the tent. It was transient, over and done with, and utterly unimportant. The ache in his hips and spine meant nothing. The horrifying dampness that seemed to be smearing across his thighs with every step meant nothing. The bruise on the side of his throat that stung when the wind whipped his hair meant nothing.

With a snarl, Rush went back to the shuttle hatch and began a second assault.

~*~

After far more physical effort than he was comfortable admitting, the sun well overhead, the hatch had opened a foot or so. He wriggled through the opening and into the cool, dark interior. Collapsing into the pilot's chair, he took a moment to catch his breath. His shoulders ached and he was sweating heavily under the borrowed shirt and jacket.

Once his breathing leveled to something more manageable, he began sawing his wrists against the sharp side of the console, relieved when the ropes began to fray at last.

He froze when he heard a faint clang against the exterior of the shuttle.

Awkwardly, he curled his hands across the console, trying to recall the start-up sequence. He told himself firmly that he could do this, even though he had no idea what he was actually doing. Rush ignored the voice that screamed that attempting to move a metal box into high altitudes without use of one's hands was almost certainly a fatal proposition.

Various bits of the console began to light in patterns he barely understood. He hunched down close to the screen, trying to read the messages that appeared and vanished quickly as systems came online.

Something slammed into the hull to his right, making him flinch and palm the console's touch screen more frantically. He heard one solid step just behind him - a boot on the bare metal plate - and that was the only warning before a fist clenched in his hair.

"Going somewhere?"

He could not swallow the soft whimper before it escaped. Rush pushed himself up awkwardly, leaning his weight on the console, coming up on one knee in the chair in an attempt to escape the white-hot pain as his hair was twisted sharply over his wounded scalp.

Young chuckled in his ear, his breath hot and wet and utterly _wrong_. "You're not very good at covering your tracks, you know that?" He murmured, voice still friendly, almost affectionate, as he nuzzled his throat. The fluttering kisses were in sharp contrast to his brutal grip on Rush's hair.

Rush kept perfectly still, his bound hands clenched to his chest, barely daring to breathe. When Young pulled back a step, he exhaled, eyes drifting shut. "Colonel Young..." He began but before he could speak, he found himself being hauled up and roughly shoved aside. He slammed into the console and buckled to the floor, where he remained, hands raised as best he could in supplication. "Colonel, please..."

Young ignored him and stepped sideways past him to sit in the chair. Smiling tightly, he punched a few buttons on the touchscreen. Rush's heart sank as the engines powered back down.

"I suppose it's too much to ask that you've come to your senses..." He murmured darkly, letting his hair fall over his face.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," Young answered, voice still achingly cheery. He clapped his hands together, an unexpectedly loud sound that made Rush flinch, before smoothing his palms over his dusty pants. "In fact, I'd say I'm feeling pretty clear-headed for the first time in a long time."

"Colonel, something's gotten in to you. Think. Did you eat anything or touch anything? Any kind of device?" Rush tried to keep his voice calm and steady as he slithered to one side, keeping his hands raised between them.

"I touched you, didn't I?" He answered, smile showing too many teeth to be comforting. Leaning down, he hauled Rush to his knees, pulling him between his legs with a bone-grinding grip on his shoulder.

The smaller man hissed in pain as he smoothed a hand through his mussed hair, revealing his face. Young whistled appreciatively, earning a confused stare. "...You really are easy on the eyes, Doctor. I'll give you that."

His expression went from one of amusement to something much darker as his voice dropped into a low rumble, "...I never should have left you on that planet..."

Rush swallowed hard, eyes searching his face, trying to determine what he meant by that. Young clenched his fist, wrenching him closer, wringing a yelp as Rush tumbled into the chair and practically onto his lap. "Leaving you behind to punish you was a mistake. I should have done this instead..."

When he tilted his chin up, Rush tried to protest, but found himself barely able to choke out the other man's name as a hand closed over his throat. He pressed his bound hands into Young's abdomen, trying to push him away, as the Colonel continued to throttle him.

Finally, Rush's arms went slack and he closed his eyes. Young immediately released the pressure, still keeping his hand on his throat. "You need to learn your place, Rush," He said softly, leaning down so their faces were inches apart. "You think we're equals? We're not. I own your ass, just like every other person on that ship. You care about the mission? I'll give you your mission. Your mission is to do what I tell you, when I tell you, you understand?!"

Rush chuckled darkly, voice hoarse. He tossed a lock of hair from his eye as best he could with Young's hand still pinning him. "You go to hell," He spat.

"See, that's what I'm talking about," Young snapped, squeezing his fist again. Rush choked and sputtered beneath him and he smiled. "You've got this idea that you can defy me - that you can control me. You can't."

"Something... is _wrong_... with you..." Rush gritted out, eyes sliding closed again as his lungs screamed for air.

"Yeah, I've got a problem, Dr. Rush. Let's see if we can do something about that, shall we?"

The grip slackened again, and Rush sagged against Young's knee, gasping. Using his free hand, the other man reached between them to unfasten his pants. Rush drew back, startled, but Young tightened his grip on his throat again, keeping him in place.

"Now you know what I want," He said conversationally, as though discussing the weather, "But the question is, are you going to give it to me, or am I going to have to make you?"

From his position, tied and held between the other man's legs, Rush still managed a look of absolute disdain. "What do you think?" He snapped.

"I figured as much," Young shrugged and flipped his grip, releasing his throat and catching him by the hair again. Rush snarled as he was pulled down and towards the arousal stealing out of the other man's pants. Using his other hand to pry open his jaw, Young brutally manipulated him into position.

Undefeated, the smaller man twisted his head to the side, letting his teeth cut roughly against the side of his most sensitive tissue.

Young let out a snarl of his own, his hands twisting again until he held Rush's jaw and the back of his head in a vise-like grip. "You are going to do this right or I am going to break your fucking neck; do you understand me?" With no answer forthcoming, he applied pressure, making Rush's neck groan under the strain. "Do you... understand me?"

Slowly, agonizingly, Rush stilled in his hands. Young could see the moment his resolve crumbled, as Rush's eyebrows quirked up and he let out a soft puff of breath.

"Very good," Young rumbled, settling back in the chair. He kept one hand fisted in Rush's hair, but the other dropped from his jaw back to the armrest.

Rush swallowed hard, considering the task before him with wide eyes. The muscles in his throat worked and trembled as he steeled himself to lean forward. Slowly, hesitantly, he opened his mouth, shying away from Young bodily even as his lips passed just over the crown of the colonel's erection.

Immediately, he jerked back, only to be caught roughly by the hand in his hair. With a growl, Young slammed him forward again and Rush caught himself against the chair with his bound wrists just short of tumbling face-down in his lap. He lifted his head slightly to stare up at Young, the tip of his nose tracing over his arousal.

" _Rush_ ," Young growled softly, drawing the word out as a command and an admonition.

Closing his eyes in defeat, Rush nodded and pushed himself back onto his knees. "Colonel, please..." He began, but broke off when fingers traced his adam's apple. With a bitter shake of his head, he tried again, sucking in a deep breath as he took the other man into his mouth.

With the first tentative touch of Rush's tongue, Young groaned and eased his hips forward, urging the other man to take him deeper. Sinking both hands into that soft, loose hair, he pulled Rush's head forward before letting him draw back, repeating this process. Slowly, Rush began a better rhythm, less panicked and timid. He was a quick study, figuring out what made Young growl with pleasure or hiss in annoyance, and applying this to his technique.

Finally, unable to take it anymore, Young pulled him forward, harder this time, resulting in a choked gasp. Rush shook under his hands, fighting to pull his body away as Young spurted, thick and wet, into his mouth. When the colonel finally released him, he fell to his side on the shuttle floor, coughing and spluttering, spitting out the semen as best he could.

"Well that's not very friendly," Young remarked cheerfully, pressing the toe of his boot against his shoulder. When he applied pressure, Rush rolled over onto his back, staring up at him, chest heaving. His lips were swollen and wet, a thin trail of saliva or worse streaking from his mouth, across his jaw, and into his hair. "Oh, yeah, that's nice," He murmured, smiling.

Rush said nothing, but finally began half crawling, have dragging himself away from Young and against the wall of the shuttle. Young's expression darkened significantly, eyes narrowing. "That's where Riley died. Did you know that?"

Boneless and exhausted, Rush collapsed against the wall with a sigh, letting his hair cover his face.

Young slid out of the chair to crouch beside him on the floor, bracing one hand over his head and catching him by the chin in the other. "He died right here, on the floor of that shuttle. Bet you never even think about it, not even when you're in one. But I do. I do. Every time I'm in this box, it's all I can see. That boy's eyes when I killed him. When _you_ killed him."

"...Riley's death was..."

Young hauled back and punched him, hard, stunning him. Rush's head snapped back, cracking against the wall with a wet thud, and he gasped, a wet, brittle sound. "Don't you _ever_ say his name to me," Young spat, shaking him by the collar of his jacket now. "You don't deserve that."

"...I don't deserve..." Rush bit off shakily when he was slammed against the wall again. "Colonel..."

"Shut up!" Young roared. "Shut up or so help me, I'll do it for you!"

The other man's lips curled back from his teeth in a savage sneer, blood and other fluids wet on his cheek. His laugh was strangled, but defiant, "...You've tried..."

He did yelp when Young forced him over onto his stomach, tossing him to fetch up against the pilot's chair. Rush landed on his knees, bound arms braced against the still-warm seat. He struggled when Young went for his pants, but the position and the other man's weight made quick work of things.

His eyes widened in alarm when he realized that Young was pressing against him already, with no attempts at lubrication or preparation. "Colonel, no!"

"I said _SHUT UP!_ " He snarled, crushing his hips against Rush's, wringing a high-pitched sound of distress from the man beneath him. Rush went still, limbs rigid, veins pronounced, as he began to press inside.

It was a bad fit, even at this angle, but some residual wetness from their earlier activities eventually made it possible to brute-force his way inside. He could hear Rush sobbing breathlessly beneath him, but this was drowned out by his own grunts of pained pleasure and the ghost of a dying boy's breath on his palm.

When he was finished, Rush was quiet and slack beneath him, a fact which momentarily gave him pause once his euphoria had faded somewhat. He checked his pulse, finding it high and steady and satisfactory. Standing, Young fastened his own pants before completely stripping Rush of his. Finally, he scooped the smaller man up in his arms, grunting as his knee protested the man's dead weight and their recent activities.

Exiting the shuttle, he stopped to reseal the rear hatch, before carrying his captive back towards the hills. It was time to head back to camp.

~*~


	3. Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rush remains trapped in a terrible situation. Young begins to come to his senses.
> 
> This chapter contains issues with drowning.

~*~

Waking up confused, sore, and horribly vulnerable was beginning to become old hat. Rush didn't even feign sleep this time. He rolled to the side, bracing his wrists against the ground in order to pull himself up onto his knees. He was back in the tent again, still tied up and naked from the waist down.

His body throbbed and as he shifted his hips, the pain was nearly unbearable for a moment. He bit back a small sound of pain, looking instead at his wrists.

Holding them close to his face, he studied the frayed laces. The console in the shuttle had proved more useful than anything else he'd tried, leaving the ropes brittle and worn in a few places. He attacked these bits with his teeth. Finally, _finally_ , Rush freed his hands.

Despite Young's attempt to protect the skin of his wrists, his struggles had rubbed them raw. He studied the rings of bruises, rubbing his forearms with each hand to restore circulation. In some places, the skin was angry and broken, making him bite his lip to silence his hiss of pain.

He took a brief inventory of his person. He still wore his borrowed military shirt and overly large jacket, both stained with sweat and grime and things he did not want to consider. His pants were gone. He tried not to recall the rush of air, chill on his legs, and the sharp drag of fabric as they were stripped away in the darkness of the shuttle.

He was battered, bruised, and there was something tacky and peeling on his leg. His head was swollen where he had been wounded hitting the tree. When he turned his neck slowly, he winced at the sudden dizziness and the sharpening of a faint ringing in his ears he only then become aware of. The back of his skull ached, hot to the touch. He wondered if he had a concussion. It had been years since he had experienced one and the memories of the symptoms were dim. He recalled Young slamming his head into the metal wall of the shuttle.

Young.

Where was Young? Hesitantly, Rush pushed back the unzipped flap of the tent. He winced, bringing a hand up to shield his eyes against the bright glare of the sun. The cluster of stone ruins seemed deserted. He wondered if Young had gone back to the shuttle, or the tunnel, or even Destiny itself.

He had no way of knowing how long he had been unconscious. A sudden terror gripped him, icy sweat slaking down his shoulders, making his shirt cling to him tighter. Days might have passed. Young might have taken the shuttle and gone back to Destiny, content to punish him once more with what was surely inescapable exile this time. His sweat ran in cold counterpoint to the aggressive heat overhead. He thought about discarding the jacket in the heat, but the idea of being naked save for a thin t-shirt seemed too much to bear.

As he stepped forward, another bolt of pain shot through his lower body, making him clutch at the canvas wall to keep upright. Holding himself with one hand, he licked the fingers of the other. Gently, hesitantly, he reached between his legs and around. Rush hissed, holding the canvas in a white-knuckled grip. When he withdrew his finger, he despaired at the smear of clear and red fluids.

Shakily, Rush started out into the sun. The lake nearby had tested extremely clean. It would be his best source of anything approaching sanitation. He looked around cautiously, keeping to the shadows, listening intently. The ringing in his ears only intensified in the heat and light of the sun. He shielded his eyes with his hand, certain they were not dilating properly. He almost positively had a concussion.

He passed the last of the buildings, finally coming to the edge of the lake. Rush hesitated, looking around one more time before removing his jacket. He decided to keep the shirt on, unable to abandon his last, flimsy defense. He skirted close to what had probably been a boathouse, just on the water, with the mind of using it to hide himself should Young happen to be about.

Just as he paused to drop the jacket where it wouldn't be seen, arms suddenly shot out of the shadows, pulling him bodily into the ruined structure. Rush yelped, bringing both arms up to bear against the man holding him.

Young snarled, catching one arm awkwardly by the elbow, slamming it over his head against the stone wall. Rush twisted, bringing his knees up, feet braced against the stone to push Young as far away as possible.

The dark-haired man chuckled mirthlessly, the sound chilling Rush's blood. " _Wow_..." Young said finally, drawing the word out, elongating the vowel. "You sure are something, you know that?"

"I need to bathe," He answered, somewhat scattered, unable to think clearly over the ringing in his ears and the thud of his heart in his chest.

Young chuckled again, thrusting one knee hard against his, slowly applying pressure to force his legs apart. "That's three times you've run from me, Doctor," He murmured, dipping his mouth close to Rush's neck.

Rush flinched, shuddering away from him, closing his eyes. "...I need to bathe. I'm... hurt. It could get infected. Colonel, please." He bit his lip when Young's teeth closed over his throat.

The pressure increased, becoming harder and hotter. He let out a sharp sound of surprise when the teeth abruptly _twisted_ , digging into the skin they held, mercilessly bruising and breaking blood vessels. Young sucked hard on the skin he had captured, making his prisoner writhe against him in a futile effort to pull away.

By the time he'd finished, a trickle of blood slid down Rush's throat, making the smaller man shiver. Young finally withdrew, admiring his work with a toothy smile. "There, now. Now we'll both remember who you belong to."

"Please..." Rush bit out, exhaling shakily. "Please, Colonel, I need to bathe."

Young stroked his face with deceptive gentleness, leaning his weight fully against the hand still pressing Rush's arm above his head. "I'll tell you what," He murmured silkily, tracing Rush's bruised lips with his thumb. "You give us a nice, good kiss, and I'll let you get into the water. How does that sound?"

"...What?" Rush blinked, his wide eyes bearing his confusion. "You can't be se..."

"Oh, I'm serious," Young cut him off, pressing a finger against his lips. "Kiss me. Like you mean it. Convince me to let you go."

Of all the things that have been done to and taken from him, this feels like the worst violation. He had been able to distance himself mentally from those acts, but this would require participation and ... intimacy. Rush swallowed hard.

"I'm waiting," Young murmured.

Experimentally, Rush tugged on his arm, surprised when Young released him. He stood there, rubbing his sore arm, still herded against the stone wall by the larger man's bulk.

Slowly, hesitantly, Rush reached up to touch the side of his captor's face. Closing his eyes, he stepped forward, pressing his lips to Young's. At first, it was only a chaste pressure, but Young parted his own lips, spearing into Rush's mouth with his tongue. For a moment, Rush froze in surprise, but he opened his mouth to the invasion. Twisting his head, he ignored the pain, clutching at Young as a wave of dizziness struck him.

Young responded by wrapping both arms around his back, pulling him close. He lifted the smaller man bodily, pressing him to the wall. Rush's own arms slid up to clutch at Young's head and shoulders, his left leg curling around his hip in a sudden, disoriented panic.

Despite himself, Rush moaned into the kiss as Young's broad hand stole under his shirt and slid down his side, stroking his ribs. Young responded by deepening the kiss even further, expertly unmaking Rush with his tongue. It was all he could do to keep up sparring with the man, twisting against him in his efforts not to fall.

When Young drew back, both men were gasping for breath, unable to focus for a few moments. Saliva leaked down Rush's chin, mingling with the blood from his bruised throat. Finally, the dark haired man squeezed Rush's hips and smiled. "All right, Doctor. Let's get cleaned up."

~*~

He kept his hands on Rush the entire time as they moved out into the water. Finally, Young stopped, one hand on Rush's hip, the other pinning a wrist loosely behind his back. The water came nearly to Rush's chest, the lake deep and clear and pleasantly cool in the heat of the sun. He bit his lip as Young turned him, releasing his wrist to wrap both arms around his waist instead. At Young's urging, Rush lifted his arms and hooked them around the colonel's neck.

They stood there a moment, in a curious parody of an embrace. Rush could feel the flat, smooth stones under his bare feet, a sigh escaping his lips as a sudden wave of exhaustion struck. He tried to remember when he had last eaten, or when he had found sleep that did not involve a head injury. Young chuckled as his stomach growled between them.

He ducked his head against Young's chest, burying his face in the damp fabric of his black t-shirt, trying to hide his aching eyes from the searing sun. Rush yelped and surged forward when he felt Young's fingers brush his abused entrance.

"Shh..." Young murmured gently, a rumble in his chest Rush could feel beneath his cheek.

He bit back a humiliating whimper as the fingers circled, petting the red and aching flesh soothingly. He writhed his hips despite himself, roiling against Young, gripping his neck tightly in both hands, as the fingers opened him. He could feel the steady, but cautious exploration, as Young separated his flesh, feeling out gently for any tears or scrapes.

When Rush surged against him again in response to a particularly sensitive wound, Young made a soft sound in his ear, clearly intending to be comforting. He stroked his free hand across Rush's back, smoothing his wet t-shirt against his shoulders. "Shhh... I got you... I got you..." He whispered, scissoring his fingers and swirling a bit more water inside him.

Rush kept his face hidden against his chest, soaking the shirt further with tears of discomfort and humiliation. He could feel Young's seemingly insatiable arousal pressed into his thigh and he shook with the realization that, once they were finished, he would almost certainly be taken again. He wondered if he could convince Young to use his mouth again instead, and the fact that this was even something to consider made him sob harder.

He wondered if he would die before Destiny came back into range - if Young would choke him or break his neck or slam his swimming head into another wall, or worse, if Young would leave him torn and bleeding, letting infection do the work dehydration, starvation, and cold had failed to complete all those months ago on that planet. The sensation of water sliding over him, in him, suddenly transported him back to the hellish period spent in alien captivity and Rush found himself pleading softly, words too faint and too jumbled to be understood.

When Young finally withdrew, he took a step backwards, then another, making a bit of space between them. Raising one hand shakily, he crouched down in the water to duck his hair back. Young smiled, wolfish, as this plastered his shirt to his skin and his hair to his head.

Drawing a deep breath, Rush crossed his legs, dropping down to the lake bed, struggling not to think of glowing blue skin and a dizzying pressure in his mind.

His fingers closed over the rock just as Young's hands found his shoulders. He allowed himself to be pulled free of the water, using the momentum to twist his arm. He broke the surface, bobbing up high enough to be taller than Young for just a moment. He bent his arm, locking his wrist, and brought the hard, sharp edge of the rock down against Young's temple.

~*~

Young was dead weight when Rush finally managed to roll them both onto the shore.  
  
They washed up, more or less, against the sandy beach, Young face-down under Rush's arm. He stared at the bruising on his wrist for a moment, the ringing in his ears louder than ever, before it occurred to him that the back under his splayed limb was completely still.

Young was not breathing.

Snarling, Rush staggered up to his hands and knees, sinking into the sand and ignoring the way his body screamed in protest at the position. He tried and failed to turn Young, the man's solid bulk beyond him now that the water's buoyancy was no longer part of the equation. Undeterred, he dug instead into the sand with both hands, ignoring the stinging in his abraded wrists.

Finally, he created a trench low enough to roll Young sideways into. Smearing some of the sand from his slack face, he held a hand over his mouth, confirming his fear. Keeping Young turned slightly to the side, he swallowed the sudden bile in his throat and pressed their mouths together.

After a few moments of pounding his chest and snarling air into his throat, Young jerked beneath him, sending Rush sprawling. He rolled away from Young, coughing as he choked on the sudden torrent of air breathed back into his own lungs. The other man curled on his side, fists pounding against the sand as he got a hold of himself. Rush tried not to look as Young vomited.

The gagging went on for several minutes until Young slumped over in obvious relief.

He could hear the colonel panting something under his breath, and he eventually realized it was his own name. Immediately, fear seized his chest again, making his breath come fast and ragged. Rush scrambled backwards, casting about for his discarded jacket, feeling beyond vulnerable in only his soaked t-shirt.

"Rush..." Young whispers raggedly, still on his hands and knees in the sand. "...There was a powder... in the tunnel... Something... Jesus, Rush..."

He stopped then, hearing the growing horror in the man's voice. "...Colonel Young?" He called softly, hoping against hope that the man had finally come back to his senses.

With a groan, Young rolled onto his back and stared up at the sun.

~*~

Rush found himself in the tent again, staring up at the canvas ceiling. The sleeping bags were both piled beneath him, along with all the extra bedding. Over his head, he could hear the curious sound of something heavy beating against the roof.

"It's raining," Young murmured softly.

He tried not to jump, but found himself twisting to the side, drawing against the tent wall, arms lifted as if to ward off a blow. Young sat against the wall beside the open flap, arms crossed tightly under his arms.

The silence between them spooled, long and awkward and finally Young cleared his throat, continuing his steady gaze at the floor. "...There's some food if you want it. Protein bars and what's left of the dried fish. And water."

Rush sighed and rolled onto his back again, hands curled to his chest. He realized he wore a skirt-like wrap fashioned of a BDU jacket.

"Don't go back to sleep," Young cautioned, voice frustratingly soft and calm, "...You probably have a concussion. You passed out beside the lake. Dehydration."

When Rush did not respond, Young carefully, oh-so-slowly leaned forward, freeing one arm from his death grip on himself to nudge a canteen across the floor. "Rush. Drink."

"What do you care?" He murmured, eyeing the other man balefully, but he took the container. Keeping his eye trained on Young, he downed the contents in a single gulp, only realizing how thirsty he felt once the water hit his parched throat.  
Crossing his legs, Rush pulled himself into a sitting position, hissing at the pain this caused in his lower body. Young continued to stare at the floor.

"...There was a container..." Young began softly and Rush made a sound of disgust. "...I knocked it over in the tunnels. It had a powder in it... And I inhaled it all."

"I don't want to hear it," Rush snarled, attacking the canteen again. He did not want explanations, did not want excuses. He did not want the apology he doubted Young would even try to give.

"Rush, those things I did to you..." He said quietly, voice thick with shame and self-loathing.

"Save it." He snapped, tearing into a protein bar with more force than was necessary.

"What do you want me to say, Rush?" Young replied, a trace of annoyance creeping into his voice. "What can I do to fix this?"

"Gate into a solar flare, why don't you? I hear that works wonders."

" _Rush_."

"Fuck. Off."

"For fuck's sake, I'm trying!" Young snarled suddenly, making the smaller man jerk back against the tent wall again.

Swallowing his bolt of fright, Rush studied him, the set of his shoulders and the way he held his own arms. Young was shaking. "...It's still in your system."

"...I threw up most of it, I think," He replied, voice as ragged as he looked. "I guess it wasn't enough. ...I'm trying."

"Is it painful?" He heard himself asking, despite himself. He shifted forward, letting one palm rest against the canvas floor.

"...I want to tear you apart..." Young whispered.

"You already have," He replied hollowly.

"...Rush..."

Swallowing hard, Rush tugged at the collar of his damp t-shirt, feeling stifled in the small space. The rain continued to beat down overhead, mirroring the pulse point in his throat. "...You feel hot, don't you?" He murmured, looking at his hand, palm flat on the floor. Young must have found the first aid kit, because both of his wrists were bandaged with the tan, loose strips TJ had salvaged from old shirts. "Like something is burning in you... something making you... want to make... bad choices..."

He looked up, meeting the other man's tortured gaze. It was not a question.

"Jesus, Rush," Young answered, sucking in a deep breath. "You swallowed it - on the beach. The resuscitation."

"Yes, well. Apparently not a full dose." He answered, flexing his fingers, fascinated by the way he could feel the motion thrum through his whole body.

Young looked small, looked frightened, as Rush crawled towards him then. The reversal of their faces, fear and hunger, predator and prey, made Rush want to laugh hysterically. When he sees the expression on Young's face intensify, he realized he must have made good on that instinct.

"What do you want?" The black-haired man asked, staring up at Rush as though he were a particularly poisonous viper.

"...I need you to touch me..." Rush murmured, reaching one hand out to brush the other man's cheek.

With a snarl, Young shoved him away, hard, curling in on himself against the tent. "No, Rush."

Flipping his hair out of his eyes, Rush staggered back up onto his knees. "Damn it, Colonel! We both need this!"

"We can't!" Young snapped angrily, hauling himself to his knees as well. His hands are on Rush's shoulders, grinding down to the bone, even as he protests verbally, "Damn it, Rush, I'll kill you this time!"

"There are other ways..." He spat back, slamming their mouths together.

Young was on him in an instant, rolling them both back against the floor. He bucked under his hips, twisting beneath his greedy, searching fingers. The makeshift clothing was drawn away, leaving him bare from the waist again and Rush only fumbled with the zipper of Young's pants in response.

Soon they are pressed, groin-to-groin, Young growling low in his throat against Rush's collarbone, absently teething the mark he'd left earlier. Rush mewled against him, scratching down his back, under his shirt. "Condom," He breathed, voice gritty in Young's ear.

"I _can't_ ," He hissed back, clenching his hands on Rush's hips.

"Trust me," Reaching past him for a moment, Rush found the pack, tumbling a foil packet into his palm before pressing it against the back of Young's hand.

Still shaking his head, Young knelt up and opened the packet. Once Rush was satisfied Young was doing as he was told, he turned onto his hands and knees, pulling the piled bedding up beneath his chest, leaving his hips braced towards Young.

"Come here," He growled and Young lost no time complying. Still, the dark-haired man froze when Rush whimpered despite himself, the pain of Young's arousal against his battered entrance momentarily paralyzing.

"Rush..."

"Inter... crural..." Rush grit out, rolling his hips back and higher, until Young's penis slid between his spread thighs.

In an instant, Young's hands snapped up to grip at Rush's waist, pulling the smaller man back and closer as Rush closed his legs around his length. With the condom, Young found himself able to slide back and forth easily between his tightly clenched legs. The friction felt intense, the pressure hot and firm. Rush's thigh muscles were surprisingly strong and he angled his hips carefully, bearing down on his arms to do so. Rush moaned as Young's head finally came into contact with the base of his own erection.

With Rush taking most of his weight on his arms, Young released his hip with one hand, snaking down to wrap a palm around Rush instead. The smaller man let out a soft, keening cry, throwing his head back, hair fluttering against Young's throat. He could hear Young murmuring softly against his throat, but the words were too muddled and his own mind too distracted to make much of them.

He realized Young was weeping just before his orgasm washed over him. The last thing he was aware of was Young whispering apologies into his ear as the ringing grew louder and louder, drowning out everything.

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good grief but there are a lot of ellipses in this chapter. Whelp.


	4. Air

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this took forever, didn't it? I am the worst. 
> 
> This chapter contains violence and stitches.

~*~

They did not speak to one another.

Rush sat, gingerly and on one hip, on the shore of the lake, staring at nothing. At first, he had closed his eyes into the breeze and even skipped a few small, flat stones across the still surface, but this had left him feeling drained and inappropriate. Instead he watched the surface with unseeing eyes and tried to convince himself the sun was warming his skin.

Finally, Young trailed into the peripheral of his vision, slow and dragging and far away. He flinched anyway, despite himself. Young carried both of their packs slung over one shoulder, the tent bag under his other arm. Slowly, carefully, Rush pushed to his feet, mindful of his sore and bandaged wrists. It was time to go.

~*~

He trailed behind Young the entire way, watching the expanse of his shoulders ripple under his burdens. Young wore his uniform fastened up to the chin, jacket and all, which must have been unbearable in this heat. Rush had commandeered his cap, feeling and surely looking ridiculous with it and his jacket sarong and battered t-shirt. It kept the sun out of his eyes and made his head throb less from the light.

Rush wondered absently if he should have offered to carry some of their gear back to the shuttle - he'd carried his own pack and satchel and a container of rations on the trip out. It felt like years ago now. He realized just as abstractly that he didn't care. Let Young carry the weight. The other man might be favoring his bad knee but Rush's gait was even more uncertain, even more ragged. Let him roast in the sun and suffer.

His savage musings nearly distracted him from Young's sudden pause. The hill sloped just in front of them, rolling gently down into the small valley where they had left the shuttle.

When Young spoke, his voice was thick and gravelly from disuse, in a way that made Rush's pulse quicken deafeningly in his ears.

"...How do you want to do this?"

He looked back at him, shifting his burdens so he could run one hand through his hair, scratching at his brow. The jagged scrape where Rush had brained him with the rock in the riverbed appeared to be already healing.

Rush said nothing and Young sighed and turned back to face away from him. "Would it be easier for you to go down first, or for me to go in, or at the same time, or...?"

He pondered the words for a few seconds before they sank in and ordered into comprehensible thoughts. Did he want to go down alone, while Young waited, silent and watchful, from the higher ground? Did he want to stand in the shuttle and wait for that clank of boots on the metal behind him, for the sound of the other man's breathing suddenly pressingly close in the still air? Or would he rather wait, watching Young's back as he made his way down the hillside, as he opened the door and powered up the engines? Could he risk having to race after him, could he trust that Young would stay, would wait for him to follow? Or should they go together, shoulder-to-shoulder, both disoriented by the travel from light to darkness, both in one another's space as though nothing had happened, as though Young's hands couldn't reach out at any moment and unmake him just as surely as they had before?

There was no answer he enjoyed.

Unable to pick his poison, he started down the hill, ignoring the other man saying his name sharply. After a moment, Young followed. Rush tried to pretend this didn't make him quicken his own pace, but they both saw it for what it was.

~*~

Young sat gingerly in the pilot's chair, beginning the start up sequence with a grim expression. Rush lingered behind him, as near to the rear hatch as he could without being pressed against it.

The floor vibrating under his feet felt like a blow in the stale, heavy air. Rush had never been claustrophobic before. As a child, he'd prefered small, tight spaces. They were more his shape, more his size, and he felt safer in them. If no one could fit in after him, it was protected. He could sleep or read or just catch his breath or nurse another bruise.

The Nakai had changed that. The memories of the tank, cold and cloying, the water all pressure and no buyouncy, still woke him at night, still pinned him against the wall during certain bouts of turbulence on the ship. Always he had felt the machines around him, under him, winding over the suit they'd forced him into, into the mask and into his head where the transmitter allowed them access to all the things he never, never knew he'd have to want to protect.

In this hot, dark space, the feeling of the engines made his vision swim for a moment. He sat heavily on the bench, gasping in shock at the pain that bolted up his spine, all the way into the base of his skull. He squirmed his hips, feeling blood on his thigh.

"Rush..." Young spoke up just before the hand came into his vision, and he cried out, jerking back hard against the bulkhead. Young took a step back, hands raised now in a placating gesture. For a moment, all he saw was a Nakai standing there, palms extended in the same gesture and everything in him coiled, curling back into himself.

With a snarl, he launched himself at Young, overbalancing him, sending them both crashing into the far wall. The shuttle rocked with the weight of the impact and he raised his hand, flat and hard, hitting the other man in the windpipe. Young gasped and wheezed, hands still lifted between them as though counselling peace. Rush ignored him and hit him again.

The air in the shuttle had not been cycled since the last time they had been inside, and he could still smell the blood, still smell the semen lingering in the air. He could feel the phantom weight of it, smeared across his cheek and in his hair and for a moment, he choked on the stale air as his brain grappled with the sensory memory of an erection being forced through his lips. He curled inward again, a sob rising up in his chest, and he rolled to the side, off and away from Young.

The other man sat up against the wall, letting his shoulders carry most of his weight as he rubbed at his throat. After a moment, Rush's sobs became thicker and more labored, and he could feel his throat closing. He recalled the hands on his throat, pressing and twisting, and Young's low voice growling that he would break his neck if he struggled.

He went still as a hand brushed his cheek, pushing down and applying pressure. It was only then that he realized his own hands were clutched around his own throat. Young pushed his hands away and he let him, collapsing to lie on his back. The floor was warm and he could feel the hum of the engines. It felt more natural now, more acceptable when his weight was distributed across it more evenly.

"I'm sorry, Nicholas," Young whispered softly, brushing the knuckles of his hand across Rush's bruised cheek. He didn't move, staring up at the man with an expression too exhausted to even be properly terrified anymore.

With that, the colonel pushed to his feet and returned to the pilot's chair. The screen chirruped in an obscenely cheerful sequence and the vibrations shifted, intensifying. Air washed over Rush like a dam breaking as the cyclers kicked on at last.

"Buckle up," Young advised lowly, his voice filled with the grit of regret.

For a moment, he merely lay there, closing his eyes. His heart thudded in his ears and the ringing sound merged with the grind of the engines. But he could feel the pressure shifting and swirling as the shuttle left the ground, so there was nothing left to do but crawl into one of the seats and fumble for a safety harness. It felt like a noose even though it never touched his throat.

~*~

Rush remained seated even after the docking procedure had been completed. He could not bear the thought of opening the hatch, of meeting the person on the other side of the door. He had listened, numb and detached, as Young had radioed Destiny in a falsely cheerful, almost normal-sounding tone. Had listened harder when he heard the second, more private, murmured conversation on what must have been a secure channel.

Young stepped past him, carefully skirting the far wall to stay as far out of his space as possible. Rush turned his head away as the other man palmed the door panel, but this meant staring at the spot against the wall near the pilot's chair instead. The spot where Hunter Riley had died. The spot where...

He flinched at TJ's intake of breath, nearer than he liked. Destiny held him now and he was safe from all the horrors of that and any planet. Safe from the monsters who pried and pinned and bound. Except one of them had followed him back here. Would always be here.

"Dr. Rush...?"

They only used his academic honorific when they wanted something and were concerned his response would be volatile. He did not disappoint her - Rush flinched again and pressed himself into the corner of the seat, against the bulkhead. The crash netting bundled there was rough under his hands. For a moment, it felt too much like a pair of shoelaces and he shuddered, full-body, like a dog stepping out of a bath.

"Can you walk?"

"He walked here," Young murmured from the doorway, and the look she shot him in response warmed something in Rush's chest, thawing a sliver of the ice that seemed to grip him.

Her eyebrows twisted, knitting into an expression of dismay before settling into the calm, neutral mask he recognized as an indication of her professional mindset. She had noticed the blood on the seat, streaked and dark where he has moved to one side.

"...I can walk," He said finally, and, blessedly, she drew back a pace, giving him some air.

And he did, with some effort. The bulkhead under his hand felt cool and familiar - the smoothness a texture his hands knew intimately. It served to stabilize in ways that had nothing to do with balance, though it helped there too.

He followed her to the Infirmary, trying to ignore her concerned gaze, the hand that drifted alongside him, ready to catch him should he fall, and the fact that Colonel Young trailed after them, silent as a ghost.

~*~

The examination proved unbearable. She began with his wrists, which had been awkward and unsettling. There were bits of frayed material ground down into the wounds and though she tried to be delicate with her tweezers, it involved reopening seams of flesh that had already begun to re-knit. He had remained as passive as possible, holding both hands extended, palms up, as though he had touched paint and was now struggling to keep it off the furniture.

Young remained just outside the doorway, out of sight, save for the warped and elongated shadow he threw against the far wall. Somehow it reminded Rush of the cavernous tunnel and that first frightening grip on his hips.

"You have a concussion," She offered softly. He wondered if Young could hear her from where he stood. The ringing in his ears had intensified sharply on their ascent but he was too tense to be exhausted just yet.

He stared down at the bandages as she finished the wrapping, flexing first one hand and then the other. The gauze stung a bit where the flesh felt raw, but it wasn't so bad.

"I need you to tell me what happened to you."

When he looked up, her neutral mask had slipped somewhat, cracking at the corners of her eyes, showing an emotion he couldn't identify as anything other than 'unhappy'.

"...Does it matter?" He answered, hating the sulkiness in his voice.

The clank of the tweezers against the side pan was overly loud, making him flinch.

"It does to me." For a moment, he almost believed she meant it, but instead, he shook his head.

And he curled back despite himself when the colonel stepped into view, seeming to unspool from the shadow of the wall. His uniform looked shabby and faded compared to the crisp black of TJ's own.

Her expression shifted from anger into complete blankness when he spoke.

"I... raped him."

~*~

Pedestrian conversation never interested Rush. Small talk, second-guessings, explanations. None of it mattered because none of it was data. Facts. Equations. Results. Young had been infected. Young had injured him severely. Young had... He flexed his right hand again, watching the blood shift beneath the skin, wondering how he'd managed to bruise his palm.

Around him, low voices argued, telling and retelling a story he had no interest in ever hearing again. Young told her about the cave, the powder, and the rest.

There was pity in that even gaze now and Rush could not bring himself to meet it.

Finally, there was only silence and he dared to look up.

The pity on her face was nothing compared to the guilt on Young's.

~*~

It wasn't ethical, and it wasn't smart, but it was necessary. Rush lay face-down on the metal table and clutched the sides in a white-knuckled grip. Over him, Col. Young did his best to hold his forearms with a firm gentleness. Rush tried to pretend this was acceptable but they all knew it was a lie.

Another suture. He could feel the feather-light slide of the waxed thread as she carefully pulled the skin together. Flesh mended, he knew. Young continued to hold his arms, preventing him from surging forward and destroying what TJ worked so hard to do. He whimpered as the needle sank in again for a fourth time.

As TJ moved, slowly and delicately, between his legs, he hissed and buried his face in his arm. This put his cheek against Young's knuckles and he recalled the soft, almost tender gesture in the floor of the shuttle, just before takeoff.

_'I'm sorry, Nicholas.'_

Destiny hurtled through space, leaving the planet far behind. Still, Rush knew, that like the gravel planet, it would remain forever etched into his bones. Like those chosen for the mysterious cult, he had crossed a river and been transformed. Now he and Young had been initiated into a private pact, granting them no wisdom but that of grief and remorse. 

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this is so lackluster. I don't know that we've seen the last of this particular universe, do you?


End file.
